


Like Shooting Fish In A Barrel

by SeeEmRunning



Series: Abused [1]
Category: Criminal Minds, Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Child Abuse, Gen, Preseries, bad!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeEmRunning/pseuds/SeeEmRunning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hotch and his team catch a case involving decapitations, grave desecration, and Latin. Preseries both shows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Shooting Fish In A Barrel

"There was only one victim?" Jack McCoy asked.

"Yeah," the tech said. "What, was that not in your file?"

"There are two pools of blood," McCoy said. "They overlap a little, on the edges - see here?" He knelt down and gestured to the touching edges with a thin, neoprene-protected hand. "But it's definitely two. Can you run both, see if they're from the same person?"

"Sure," the tech said, pulling two vials from her bag.

"Thanks," McCoy said, standing up and shifting to look at the body. "Decapitation. Don't see that very often."

"Unsub's strong," his partner, Anthony Copeland, said. "It doesn't look like he needed many blows to get through."

"And me picked a good spot for it, right between vertebrae. He's done this before."

"Question is, why him?" Copeland asked.

"No idea. Let's get back to the others, see what they've got."  
***  
"The unsub is a middle-aged male with knowledge of law enforcement protocol," Aaron Hotchner began. "He is very strong, very fast, and very skilled with a blade. He is not from around here. He likely has some form of military or law enforcement background. If he has a family, they are aware of what he does and may even be encouraging him. The two different blood samples indicate he is either badly wounded or took a second victim hostage."

"Which one is it?" an old officer asked.

"We think he himself was hurt," McCoy answered. "There were no drag marks or other indicators of abduction."

"So we check hospitals for anyone admitted with blood loss," a detective suggested.

"Already did that," Copeland answered. "Nothing came up. So we have to believe the unsub is taking care of himself, which is another reason his family is aware. They may even protect him, if they exist."

"This unsub is very smart," Hotch continued. "He left no evidence of any kind except for the blood."

"It looked to be around one and a half pints at the scene," McCoy said, "so he lost about an eighth of his total volume. He won't be suffering any ill effects."

As if on cue, every cell phone in the room began to beep, chirp, or ring at the same time.  
***  
"Two victims this time," Copeland said. "He's escalating."

"And the blood pattern's different," McCoy said. "At the last one, there were two distinct pools, but here" - he traced the outline of the blood - "one pool from the first victim's neck, but on the second, there are drops and prints, like the second victim tried to help whoever was in the second pool. Whoever it was had really small feet."

Copeland and Hotch both gave him the _how-are-you-so-stupid_ look. "McCoy," Copeland said, "that's a kid's foot."

"Our unsub has a child," Hotch elaborated.

"And he's bleeding him," McCoy said with dawning horror. "Is it an abducted child or his own?"

They shook their heads helplessly. "No way of knowing." Copeland punched a number on his cell phone. "Hey, Dennis, run a list of motels in the area for men with a kid."

"Just one?" Denise Dennis asked.

"For now. Cross-check with criminal record and with military or law enforcement background."

"Will do. Dennis out." The line clicked dead. The three agents looked at each other, wondering just how they were going to find this guy.

Fifteen minutes later, Copeland got a call back. "I found something for you," Dennis said cheerfully.

"All right, go ahead," he said, putting her on speaker.

"There were only four names on the list of men traveling alone with a child," she told them, "and none of them fit the parameters."

"So you have nothing," Hotch said.

"Did I say that?" she demanded. "I ran the names. One of them, Robert Plant, has no history at all. Your guy paid with a fake credit card."

"So we have credit card fraud and decapitation?" McCoy asked.

"We have more than that," Dennis said. "I ran the fake name and got a list of towns they've stayed in before. And guess what I found?" She didn't wait for an answer. "In every place they stay, there's at least one murder or suspicious disappearance. This guy was suspected in all of them, but he was usually dropped from the list once the local PDs found out he had a kid with him."

"So he's done this before," Hotch said.

"Yep. He drives a 1967 Chevrolet Impala, black, and he's switching plates. I'm still looking for his real name."

"Where's Robert Plant staying?" Copeland asked, the name tickling something in his brain.

"Checked out of the Shady Tree Inn this morning," Dennis informed him.

"McCoy, Copeland, go talk to the clerk," Hotch ordered. "See if he knows anything."  
***  
The clerk was a pimply teenager named Charlie who seemed more bored than anything, even when they showed him their badges. Robert Plant, room 14. He'd remembered the name because it was the same as Zep's frontman - the detail that had tickled Copeland's mind back at the station. Had a kid with him, ten, maybe? Name of Sam. Carried his son out this morning, checked out, said Sam was sick and they were going home so he could rest. What was this all about, anyway?

"He bled his son in an alleyway and decapitated the people who came to help," Copeland said.

"Dude, no way," Charlie breathed, brown eyes wide and suddenly very far from bored.

"Did you see which way they went?" McCoy asked.

He shook his head. "Wasn't paying much attention."

"Thanks for your time," Copeland said.

"Yeah, no problem," the clerk said, but they were already halfway out the door.  
***  
The next day, they were still in Decapitation Central when they got word from two towns over of a beheading, a man shot in the heart with a silver bullet, and a woman shot in the chest with rock salt and held captive while a man screamed Latin at her. Nobody at the precinct had put it together until they ran the blood from the first two crime scenes and got a match, and the hospitalized woman said there was a pale, weak child with fresh cuts on his arms with the man who'd shot her. Their unsub had moved on.

"So wait," McCoy said in the car on their way to the next scenes, "how is he bleeding this kid without killing him? There's seven pints in a ten-year-old boy, and there was a little more than a pint left at each of the crime scenes in town. His father risked him slipping into shock. If the same amount was left at the other three crime scenes, he'd be dead."

"Maybe he's not leaving as much blood now," Copeland suggested.

"Maybe he doesn't care if the kid dies," Hotch said grimly.

Any response that might have been made was cut off by the ringing of Copeland's cell phone. "Hey, Dennis, you're on speaker."

"Well, in that case," she said, sounding very vaguely sarcastic, before barreling on. "I found Robert Plant's real name, and his history is colorful, to say the least."

"Lay it on us, Dennis ," Copeland said.

"His real name is John Winchester, from Lawrence, Kansas. His father disappeared when he was really little, just up and vanished one day. Police couldn't find any leads, so they decided he just left the family."

"Doesn't sound like you believe that," McCoy noted.

"Well, all his stuff was still in the house. Who doesn't take their toothbrush or any of their clothes if they're planning on starting over somewhere new? Anyway, he grows up, family gets poorer, sister dies in a car accident when she's ten and he's sixteen. Two years later, he joins the Marines, gets a ton of commendations and metals. When his tour's up, he moves back home, falls in love, marries a girl named Mary Campbell. Her parents get killed shortly before their wedding."

"Was it him?" Hotch asked.

"Cops didn't think so at the time, but the report doesn't say why. John and Mary go ahead and get married on the original day. A year later, they have a boy named Dean. Everything seems to be going fine. Teachers said he was happy and outgoing. Four years later, baby Samuel is born, and for a while, nothing really changes. Here's where it gets really sad."

"It wasn't already?" Copeland asked.

"Oh, hon, no. It gets worse. On November second, six months to the day from when Sam was born, the house burns down. The fire started in Sam's room and spread to the rest of the house. From what John told the police, he gave Sam to Dean and told them to get out while he tried to get his wife out. Dean was almost to the door when he tripped and hit his head on a chair, knocking him unconscious. John ran right by them, didn't even see them. Apparently right after he got out, he started looking for them, and it took three cops to hold him back from going back in. The firemen went in and found them under the table. Neither boy was breathing, but they revived Sam outside. Dean had lost too much blood. He and Mary were buried two days later.

"John hangs around Lawrence a little longer. For about three months after the fire, John says there was something in Sam's room, that it set the fire, and then he starts talking about ghosts and werewolves and vampires. John loses his job. They get evicted from their apartment, and all John has left is his car and some clothes. Social Services starts closing in, threatening to take Sam away from him, and he leaves, taking Sam with him. They drop completely off the grid. Sam didn't even attend school."

"Good work, Dennis," Hotch said. "Do you have a picture?"

"It's about fifteen years old, but I already sent to you."

"Thanks, Dennis." Copeland cut the call. "So the fire was the stressor."

"It sounds like he was delusional," McCoy said. "What if he thought he was killing monsters? Decapitating vampires, shooting werewolves with silver, performing an exorcism on a possessed woman?"

"We gotta get that kid out of there," Copeland said.

"Sam may believe what his father is doing is right," Hotch pointed out. 

"And if Sam hasn't even gone to school, it's entirely possible he doesn't know his father is delusional at all. If he's been living with this man for ten years, no school, no friends, nobody on the outside, why would he question him?" McCoy asked.  
***  
They caught up with John Winchester two weeks, four towns, and fourteen murders later, when he slipped up and used a card Dennis had flagged. He slipped out the door of his motel room and was almost to his car when the three of them ran in, vests on and guns out.

"John Winchester!" Copeland yelled. "Get on the ground, hands behind your head."

They could see him debating, and Copeland yelled again, "On your stomach, hands behind your head!"

He came to a decision, reaching around to grab the gun tucked in his waistband. Hotch shot as soon as they saw the glint of metal in his hands, and he dropped, blood oozing from the small hole between his eyes.

"Dad!" they heard someone scream, and automatically raised their weapons to point at the source of the sound before it registered what had made it. They holstered their weapons hastily.

"Dad?"

"Samuel?" Copeland asked, stepping forward.

"You shot him! You killed my dad!" The boy was swaying on his feet, pale and shaking, sweat rolling down his face in large drops. "You killed him!"

"Sam," McCoy began, stepping forward, "your father was a very bad man."

"Don't say that," Sam shrieked, turning to go back into the room, but he stumbled and fell.

"McCoy, Copeland, go," Hotch said quietly. "I'll call the coroner."

They didn't need to be told twice, hurrying over to check on the boy. "He's cold and clammy," McCoy said, taking his pulse.

"No - get - get off -" Sam was fighting, and the training he'd received was obvious in the way he moved, but he couldn't do much against them, weak and small as he was.

"We gotta get you to a hospital," McCoy told him.

"No - no hospital -"

"You lost a lot of blood," Copeland said. "C'mon, kid, just get checked out, okay?"

Sam went limp. "Who are you?"

"I'm Derek, and this is Jack. We're with the FBI."

McCoy looked up. "Fast and weak, he needs a doctor _now._ "

Copeland nodded and stood, pulling out his cell and hurrying back to Hotch to see if he'd called anyone other than the coroner. McCoy looked back down. "Can you tell me your name?" he asked, figuring he should keep the kid talking.

"Sam."

"All right, Sam, how are you feeling?" The only reply he got was a dirty look, and McCoy tried to follow the guidelines he'd learned for talking to kids. "Look, Sam, you've lost a lot of blood over the past few days. Frankly, I'm surprised you're still conscious. You're a tough guy."

"No I'm not," Sam said, slurring his words now. McCoy figured the adrenaline was wearing off right as Sam's eyes started to close.

"No, Sam, come on. You gotta stay awake for me."

"Ambulance is on its way," Copeland said, reappearing on Sam's other side. "Hey, kid, how ya feeling?"

Copeland got the same dirty look McCoy had, but at least Sam's eyes were open now.

"All right, not a big talker, I get that," Copeland said, voice soft. McCoy blinked, surprised yet again by how much Copeland changed when he was around kids. "So how about you tell us where you've been lately, can you do that?" Sam shook his head. "Why not? Are you scared?"

"I never know where we are," Sam said quietly.

McCoy asked, "What about street signs? Can you remember what any of them said?"

Sam shook his head.

"None?" Copeland pressed.

Sam shook his head again and whispered, "Too stupid to read." 

Copeland got the distinct impression he'd be blushing if he had enough blood left in his body. "I'm sure that's not true, Sam," he said soothingly. "Keep your eyes open, okay, bud?"

"How is he?" Hotch asked, appearing out of nowhere.

"Who're you?" Sam slurred, tensing again.

"My name's Aaron. How are you feeling?"

"M'fine," he insisted. "You killed my dad."

"Your dad was trying to kill us," Hotch told him.

Sam shook his head violently. "He doesn't kill humans," he insisted.

"If he doesn't kill humans, what does he kill?" McCoy asked.

"Vampires. Werewolves. Ghosts."

Now Copeland was curious. "How do you kill a ghost?"

"Salt and burn the corpse." Sam grinned lazily; the expression was seriously out of place for the subject matter. "Dad told me once I'm almost as good at digging up graves as he is."

"How many graves have you dug up?" McCoy asked, chills skittering up his spine.

"I dunno." Sam's eyes started to close again.

"How long have you been digging graves?" Hotch prodded.

"Coupla years now."

"How many do you do a month?"

"I dunno. Get about three a week, usually."

"So twelve a month?" McCoy prodded. "For a few years?"

"If you say so," he mumbled. It occurred to Copeland that if the kid couldn't read he probably couldn't do much math, either.

"So you've dug a couple hundred graves, huh? Bet that's disgusting."

"Only if it's new. After about six months, it's not so ripe."

Hotch squeezed his eyes shut at the visual. McCoy swallowed bile. Copeland wasn't quite sure what to make of the revelation, coming as it was from a child.  
***  
Sam ended up in a juvenile mental health facility after he was released from the hospital following a blood transfusion. Ten years under the thumb of a man with delusions and violent tendencies as severe as John Winchester's had been left Sam unable to tell fact from fantasy or to trust that people larger than him wouldn't try to harm him like his father had.

Over time, he got better, though he would always have a hard time reading, especially small print. Math would continue to be difficult. Still, he got better at reading people, to the point where he could tell a lie at a glance, and he was better at observing than talking. 

A year after he was first committed, he was better at keeping things straight. He'd learned that monsters didn't exist. He'd learned that his father was a Very Bad Man, all words capitalized. He'd been told his father didn't have the right to beat him and bleed him. He'd ben tested and told he was intelligent, though he had his doubts about that. He was also told he might be released into foster care by the time he was a teenager.

And he owed it, all of it, the chance he might be alive to see his teenage years, to the men who shot his father.

So he talked to the nurses and doctors, who made some calls, and then he wrote to the agent who'd taken the shot.

Hotch didn't get a chance to open the letter until he was writing reports after a bad case. When he finally read it, he couldn't help wincing at the terrible handwriting, misspellings, and grammar, but he smiled when he realized who it was. The smile slid off his face when he read the phrase 'I'm glad you kild my dad', but it returned when Sam told him he might be released.

He added the letter to a file folder of things that reminded him that his job was worth the long hours, violence, and danger for days when he was questioning his career change before pulling out a blank sheet of paper and writing back, printing carefully and with large letters.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is different, right?
> 
> But this has somehow become a 'verse in my head, so I guess there's more to come. Yay plots that won't let me work on the stories people actually like reading?


End file.
